The Akatsuki Chronicles
by Atoms and Elements
Summary: In which Konan's hobbies are predictable, Hidan needs to shut his mouth, and Kisame needs to come to terms with the fact that he may be the only sane member of the organization. AU. OOC-potentially. Akatsuki ficlet collection.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_** This is going to be...something, but I have no idea what yet. For now, it's just a bunch of super short ficlets dealing with the daily life of the Akatsuki when they're not being super badass and shit. Okay, I don't really know. The people on tumblr coax me to do a lot of stuff. Just read...**

/...\

_Prompt: Where do they take showers?_

**Third Person POV:**

Several members of the organization woke up in a daze as a fierce pounding echoed through the base. In his bed, Itachi rolled over, checking the alarm clock that rested on his bedside table—the glowing numbers showed that it was barely six o'clock in the morning. From across the room, the Uchiha heard a deeper groan resonate as Kisame slowly came to.

"What the hell—" The shark-like man grumbled, rolling over before locking eyes with his roommate. Itachi had his sleep mask pulled up to press against his forehead, leaden eyes unfocused in his staring. More crashing came from somewhere outside their door.

A loud voice shrieked from a not-so far off distance, "TOBI! Get out of the bathroom! Others have to shower as well!" Without even needing to see his face, it was obvious that the screeching voice came from Deidara.

**[More furious knocking]**

"You should've gotten up before me, Deidara-senpai! The early bird gets the worm!" The response from the mask-clad member was somewhat muffled, but still audible to Kisame's and Itachi's particularly sensitive hearing.

"I don't care about any bird or worm; I just want my damn shower!"

"Give me a few minutes, senpai! I need to wash behind my ears!"

The sound of a clenched fist pounding against a flimsy, wooden door resonated some more, and Kisame could see the beginnings of bloodlust start to swirl in the raven's eyes. Flecks of red emerged from nowhere, spinning madly.

"GET OUT, TOBI!"

"Just be patient, Deidara-senpai!"

"Screw patience—I need to wash my hair! It's greasy!"

The shouting escalated and escalated until it was all that rang through Kisame's sleep-deprived cranium. His mission from the night before hadn't been draining per se, but he and Itachi had come back later than usual, which had resulted in them missing out on precious hours of sleep.

"Your hair is fine the way it is! Don't worry!"

"Why do you care? Just get the hell out so I can shower!"

"Deidara-senpai, there's no need to swear!"

His eardrums were going to bleed, of that Kisame was nearly certain. The blood was going to leak from every orifice and onto his brand new duvet—Kakuzu was going to have a fit when he found out. Sadly, there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. The screeching was nearly unbearable, and why-oh-why had Leader insisted on having their bedroom so close to the only bathroom?

"GET OUT!"

"My hair still has shampoo in it!"

Silent as a ghost, Itachi rose from his bed, slipping his pale feet deftly into a nearby pair of fleece slippers. Without bothering to give any wishy-washy excuse or change into more appropriate garments, the Uchiha left their room quietly, venturing into the hallway before shutting the door behind him with a slight _click_. Kisame waited a heartbeat, eyes still fuzzy.

**[A flood of Killing Intent]**

The first sound that pierced the atmosphere was Deidara's shriek of pure and utter terror before it was cut off abruptly. Kisame's eyes only continued to bulge as the sound of smashing wood reached his ears. There was more screaming and incoherent pleading (the shark-nin was even sure he'd heard a few sobs) mixed in with breaking glass and heavy footsteps.

"OH MY GOD—THE BLOOD IS EVERYWHERE—"

It went silent the next second.

There was absolutely no sound throughout the base, and that was probably a hundred times worse than any silly squabbling. The air hung in such a way that might've unnerved even the bravest of souls. However, Kisame merely grunted, groggily shifting over until his back faced the door.

He honestly hadn't wanted to wake up so early.

\.../

_**A/N: **_**Kisame's kind of a dick and Itachi's insane. Yes, I made Itachi his slightly insane-self. I liked that old characterization of him. I like the new one (the canon one), don't get me wrong, but insane!Itachi is so utterly adorable.**

**Anyways, until next time.**

**-Atom-**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_** I'm going on vacation to HP Land O_O I know, it's kind of amazing. I might actually have a heart attack. However, as a gift to my friends on tumblr and my readers here, I decided to update a few things before I left, just so that everyone has stuff to read. Not that my stuff matters. Whatever. Read...**

/...\

_Prompt: Who makes their uniforms?_

**Third Person POV:**

Takasaki Irie was an average man from an average family.

He'd never taken anything for granted and never asked for much, content to live with his humble life, not much needing power or money or success. Those were the things given to men who either _deserved_ them or took them without the explicit right but not caring. In any case, even from an early age Irie had thought himself perfectly mediocre and nothing more—it was that type of thinking that kept his head from swelling to an unproportional size.

So he'd taken up the rather modest trade of tailoring, content with the idea of starting up his own small business and living a simple, uncomplicated existence. His parents had been proud of his accomplishments, expressing said pride to anyone who would listen. Their independent son who could earn his own living and did not whine about the injustices of life. Of course there were times where the flickering desire to have a spectacular, showcasing son did emerge, but for the most part they too contented themselves to live in mediocrity, never needing more.

And, just as he'd hoped, as soon as he'd scrapped together enough money from odd jobs and the bit his parents had lent him in order to open his small shop, it was not long before his first customers arrived. All decorated with a brilliant smile and impressive talent for stitching and threading, Irie became quite well known in the town he'd decided to settle down in. People began to address him by name, invite him out to dinners, and even strike up friendships with him.

It was, for lack of a better word, a quaint living, which he enjoyed very much.

"Have you finished sewing up the arm? I gotta be somewhere soon, un."

And then there was _them_.

"Can you fucking hurry up? I have to be back at the damn base by ten, you little _shit_."

"Get them done by five. I hate tardiness."

"You have three hours."

Those ninja.

He didn't know how it'd come to be. One day he'd been completely immersed and comfortable with his unfussy, and the next they'd strolled in like they owned the place. From the very sight of them he'd known that it'd be an impossibility to kick them out—and perhaps even an early death wish—, but he'd hoped they would make use of his skills the one time and then vanish into the air as nothing more than a terrifying memory.

It was a fruitless wish.

Their first request for a form fitting, easy-to-move-in cloak was by manageable, and Irie ignored every other responsibility he had (to his regular customers and the ones who'd dropped off their cloaks or requested something before the shinobi) in order to complete the requirement. With a determination like none other, Irie completed the order in less than a day.

It was a personal best.

However...

It exactly met their standards and more, which pleased the ninja—especially the foul-mouthed one who seemed to visit his shop more than necessary with his hooded partner. Once they'd seen what he could procure, it was obvious that the shinobi had no intention of contacting another tailor. For perhaps the first time in his life, Irie wished he could be anyone else—and somehow, it was still so average. Every day was the same, even when they were there.

So maybe it wasn't so bad, being the hired tailor of a group of dangerous, S-class missing-nin. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, Irie tried to convince himself, and it was altogether too arrogant of him to think that he had it worse than any other person when he didn't know that for certain. With that thought implanted into his mind, the tailor did his absolute best to follow through with every order, not wanting to worsen the situation.

Even as horrifying as it could sometimes be, with them coming in with blood-drenched outfits, reeking of death with strange smiles plastered on some of their faces. The foul-mouthed one in particular seemed to rip his clothes a lot, and came around more than Irie found acceptable—however, he never voiced this.

Because Takasaki Irie was an average man, despite working for—in a way—the criminal organization known as the Akatsuki.

...It just sounded a lot worse than it actually was.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

\.../

_**A/N:**_** HEY. I'm done this. Move on to the next one, because hopefully I typed up some more fics by now! If not, then content yourself with this ficlet~~**

**-Atom-**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_** I was trying to do a bunch of prompts that actually made some sort of sense first, but this one called out to me. I couldn't let it hang in the air. Okay, here you go...**

/...\

_Prompt: Do they like colouring?_

**Third Person POV:**

Truthfully, it wasn't a very big surprise to anyone, even if they made it seem like it was.

Maybe it was a testament to her talents or some sort of humorous coincidence the fates had conjured up, however it shocked and hardly shocked the rest of the Akatsuki members. In ways, they'd long seen something like this occurring without ever actually expecting her to admit it.

So when Konan pulled out a giant book at the main dinner table of the hideout and a box of markers, Kisame could only watch with wide eyes as she uncapped a forest green marker and flipped to a random page. His jaw had only continued to drop when the only female member proceeded to colour in a lineart-drawing of the ancient Tsuchikage.

"...Konan..." He asked delicately, not used to interacting with the blue-haired woman, "...Where did you get that book?" He hadn't even thought they made colouring books, nevermind ones about the five kage. Honestly, it really served to amuse him in some ways.

Beside him, Itachi sat demurely, scanning the pages of his book behind his thick-rimmed reading glasses (and Kisame dared not laugh, lest he end up like Tobi and Deidara—who were still in critical condition, mind you). He too had noticed Konan's peculiar hobby, but did not voice his opinion one way or another.

Kisame didn't know whether this was an incredibly wise decision or brought about by general apathy.

"I bought it, Kisame-san," She murmured curtly, not once looking up from her book. As she spoke, she uncapped another marker, beginning to shade in the darker shadows on the Tsuchikage's clothing. It was done so carefully and diligently that Kisame as close to impressed, despite her not having drawn anything herself.

"Ah..."

He might've said more, perhaps even complimented her to get in Konan's good graces (and by default, Pein's, as Kisame may have been a lot of things but he was not an idiot), however Hidan had decided at that moment to strut arrogantly into the kitchen. His head was held much too high and his smirk was much too cocky.

"'Sup, bitches?" He greeted nonchalantly, "...The fuck are you up to?" The platinum-haired Jashinist had clearly seen Konan's little hobby (not that it was particularly easy to miss). And despite his already peculiar complexion, Kisame paled as the female twitched.

Itachi's eyes flicked up momentarily and something glimmered behind his glasses before he lost interest once again. Such significant things (significant in the fact that they were not significant at all) troubled the shark-nin. He didn't like the way his stomach twisted.

For a brief heartbeat, Konan did not speak. Then... "...Colouring. _Obviously_." There was a snide note to her voice—almost a warning, in fact, if Kisame could pick up on such things—, but it appeared that Hidan did not notice.

Instead he laughed; and Kisame inwardly groaned.

"Are you for fucking real?" Hidan cackled, grinning so widely that it was unclear if his face would break, "Colouring? Oh Christ, this is fucking _precious_, seriously."

She did not show any emotion on her doll-like face, her eyelids still drooping and her lips still slack. For all the world, she was the picture perfect example of calm and orderly. In fact, with swift fingers, Konan finished colouring the picture before capping the markers again.

"Here you go," Konan intoned abruptly, twisting around in her chair to hand the drawing to the Jashinist. He blinked once, not quite sure what to make of the gesture before his grin returned tenfold.

"Whoa, thanks, bitch. I'm gonna go hang this up on my fridge, serious—"

The last word was vaporized as the paper suddenly split in two—directly down the middle in a way that couldn't have been natural—, and the steel-sharp edges cut right through Hidan's fingers. Kisame regarded the scene with bulging eyes, not knowing what to think when the halves glided freely back to Konan before mending themselves.

"WHAT THE FUCK, YOU STUPID WHORE? KAKUZU'S GONE ON A MISSION, DUMBASS!"

Not paying attention to the scythe-user as he screeched, Konan stood up and walked out of the kitchen, bringing her colouring book with her. Hidan, still pissed off and bleeding all over the floorboards, gathered his severed fingers and chased after the female, screaming cusses the whole way.

Kisame sighed in exasperation, resting his face against his hand. He must've been the only sane person around—it was the only logical thing to think.

He looked down to see a stray finger twitching by his foot.

Itachi continued to read, never once blinking even as Kisame slammed his head onto the table.

\.../

_**A/N:**_** Yeah, so that was stupid. I love writing stupid stuff though. I sort of like writing this kind of Itachi too—sort of psycho, but also just plain strange at points. And Hidan. Oh god. My love for him is ever-expanding. I really enjoyed writing this short thing.**

**-Atom-**


End file.
